When the Paperwork Finally Has a Name: Navigating Adrion’s Autism Diagnosis
A picture of Adrion holding a poster of affirmations.
There are moments in parenting that quietly divide life into a before and after.
Receiving Adrion’s psychological evaluation results was one of those moments.
The report confirmed what we had been circling around for some time: Adrion meets the criteria for Autism Spectrum Disorder, Level 2. Even writing those words took a breath. Not because they changed who my son is—but because they gave language to experiences we have been navigating without a shared map.
At Hear & Connect, we talk often about listening beyond sound. This diagnosis asked me to listen even more deeply—to my child, to myself, and to what comes next.
Holding Two Truths at Once
I felt relief and grief at the same time.
Relief, because clarity matters. Because support requires language. Because so many moments suddenly made sense.
Grief, not for Adrion, but for the weight I know the world can place on children who process it differently. Grief for the extra advocacy he may need. Grief for the things he might have to explain before he is ready.
And alongside both emotions was love. Fierce, steady, unshaken love.
Adrion did not change when the report was signed.
But our responsibility to protect, support, and advocate became even clearer.
What “Autism Level 2” Means in Our Home
Labels can feel heavy, especially when they are misunderstood.
In clinical language, “Level 2” refers to support needs. In our home, it means this:
Adrion experiences the world deeply and intensely
He benefits from structure, clarity, and emotional safety
He deserves support without being underestimated
This diagnosis does not define his limits. It highlights where support matters most.
Helping Adrion Understand His Own Story
One of the hardest parts has been figuring out how to talk to Adrion about this in a way that is honest, age-appropriate, and empowering.
I don’t want him to hear:
“You are different in a way that makes life harder.”
I want him to hear:
“Your brain works uniquely, and we are learning how to support it together.”
We are taking this slowly. Conversations grounded in reassurance. Language rooted in strength. Space for questions without pressure for answers.
Most importantly, I want Adrion to know this:
There is nothing wrong with you.
You are not broken.
You are deeply known and deeply loved.
Navigating the Unknown With Intention
A new diagnosis brings appointments, acronyms, recommendations, and opinions. It can feel like suddenly standing at the edge of a system that expects parents to become experts overnight.
I am learning to pace myself.
To ask questions.
To trust my instincts.
To advocate without losing sight of my child as a whole person.
We are not rushing to fix anything—because Adrion is not a problem to be solved. He is a child to be supported.
For Parents Standing Where I Am
If you are reading this while holding a new diagnosis in your hands, please hear this:
You are allowed to feel everything.
You are allowed to take your time.
You are allowed to rewrite the narrative you were handed.
A diagnosis can be a doorway—not to limitation, but to understanding, access, and support.
We are still learning. Still listening. Still connecting.
And we will continue to share this journey through Hear & Connect—not because we have it all figured out, but because no family should have to walk this road alone.